I Need Help
by hola skankola
Summary: Three little words haunt Raven, as she's torn in two over her little problem. BBRae, rated for cutting.


Disclaimer: Teen Titans are not mine! Dur.

A/N: I don't think I've ever written anything this depressing before, but this is dedicated to my best guy friend, who also suffered with this same problem.

TT

I take one look at my mutilated arms, and I know; it has been something I've known for the past two months. It's been something I've feared. It's been something I've actually been looking forward to.

And, every time I do it, too, I admit to myself those three words that I dread and long for at the same time. But this time, I will stop. This time, I lie to myself, will be my last time. No longer will I feel the cool blade running across my skin, or have to heal myself afterwards.

And after I tell myself this, I laugh sardonically. I know I'm lying to myself, and yet I make no move to stop.

Everyday I feel pain, and every night I release it with the swipe of a sinful object that I hold dear. I know, getting such perverse pleasure from something so sadistic is inhuman. Well, conveniently, I'm half-demon.

And I easily hide such scars from my teammates. The one time wearing long-sleeves has done something good for me in the summer. It gets hot within the confines of my spandex, but I don't dare let them find out my secret.

I know those three little words need to escape my lips at some point, but I'm not ready to lift this weight from my shoulders. I contemplate it, from time to time, and especially who I would tell. I would never dare tell Robin. He would put me off of duty for a month, making me go into some sort of rehab. I wouldn't tell Starfire, either; she would not know how to react, consequently asking Robin. He'll want to know where she found out, and she would point all fingers to me. I contemplate asking Cyborg. He, being as tight with Robin as he is, would let the information slip to our leader.

Then, there's Beast Boy. I won't even list all the things wrong with that one.

So, I find myself on the roof, watching the sun dip below the horizon. As if the sky were a canvas and the sun a paintbrush, it spilt pinks, purples, and powder blues across it. I sigh, feeling lucky to witness such beauty. I pull the blade from the confines of my cloak. Then, familiar with the routine, I push my sleeve up to reveal past scars. I reopen two of them, feeling the cool blood weave a path down my arms. I use the inside of my cloak to wipe away some of it. As I hear the roof door open I push my sleeve back down, and I quickly stash the blade.

A soft pitter-patter of feet brings me to my senses, and I whip around to see a serious green face settling down next to me. "Hey Rae," he whispers softly.

"Hello," I respond stiffly. That was another thing. My current obsession had led me to become more and more estranged with my teammates. They worry about me, I can tell. I just inform them that everything is fine, when it really is not.

He reads my face, reads the many emotions my stolid façade betrays. "Something's wrong," he mumbles.

"Nothing's wrong," I responded, with a hint of malice in my voice. From the corner of my eye, I see him look to his fidgeting hands in his lap, offended.

"Sorry," he tells me softly. "I just worry about you."

He thinks he's going to make me feel guilty, toying with me like this. Sometimes, I don't give him enough credit, for he is absolutely right. "No, I'm sorry," I mutter at last. "I just…"

For a moment, I think of telling him the secret that has haunted me for the past two months. I feel the cool blood still trickling down my arms, soaking into the spandex. I'm glad the damned fabric is dark, for he would've spotted the blood far before now.

"You just what?" he asks, concern etched deep into the lines on his face. "Anything you want to share?"

I feel myself begin to grow woozy, and know I need to be alone to heal my cuts before I pass out in front of him. "No," I state defiantly. I stand up, dusting off my cloak. My arms are sore and the pain is unbearable.

"Raven, look," Beast Boy starts in a soft tone that I have rarely ever heard him use. He stands up with me, facing me. He stares into my yes, making it feel as if he's staring into my soul. "I know I've said this before, but…" he trails off. "You think you're alone, but you're not. Give me a chance. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. You know where my room is, and I'm in there almost 24/7."

My eyes sting with unshed tears, not knowing he could be so profound. I reach forward and hug him tightly, making my arms sting even more. But, I tell myself, it's worth it. "Thank you," I whisper, relinquishing him. I begin floating to my room, but take one fleeting glance back, to see him gazing at me. Lovingly, almost.

Yea, I wish.

I fly to my room, passing the living room filled with three other of my teammates. From what I can tell, they're laughing happily, hanging out. Why can't I do that anymore? Because I won't allow myself to?

Once in my room, I roll up my sleeves and heal my arms. They leave scars, as expected, but at least I was able to heal them. My emotions scream at me, when I do the sinful deed. Though it's hard to believe, I can hear them in my head. Each of them have a different opinion. Most are cons about cutting. Very few, like Rage and Depression (which is actually an emotion of mine, go figure) like what I do.

I pull out the blade, inspecting it. It has a thin trail of blood along the edge: my own. I wipe it off with a nearby cloth that I keep around to clean up stray bodily fluids.

I am about to use the blade once more, when Beast Boy's words echo within the recesses of my mind.

_If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here._

The blade hovers inches above my skin, trembling, as is my hand. Maybe, just maybe, this time I didn't lie to myself. Maybe this is the last time I'll do it. Maybe I'll finally admit those three painful words. I'm not lying to myself anymore.

With blade clutched firmly in my left hand, I begin a confident stride towards his room, my sleeves pushed up.

I knock three times with my right hand, a light knuckle rapping that seems to resound louder than I intended it to be. The door swings open all the way, to reveal the green changeling that I couldn't deny myself of any longer.

I love him, and I can't hurt him the way I do. I can't keep lying to him. I can't do this to myself, so selfishly, when he's sitting here in pain because I won't tell him the truth.

I drop the blade at his feet, my bowed head rising to meet his melancholy emerald orbs. He looks at me with confusion, fear, and worry lacing his features.

"Raven, wha-what happened?" he asked, his eyes darting from my scarred arms and back up to my eyes. His face falls, as realization dawns upon him. My eyes are brimming with tears as he pulls my trembling body towards his and lets me release two months worth of crying onto his shoulder. He strokes my silky violet tresses, letting his other arm slip around my waist to hold me close, rocking me almost imperceptibly. "Raven, what's wrong?"

"Beast Boy," I sob, knowing I won't have to lie to myself or to him anymore. I mentally prepare myself for what I'm about to say, knowing it took me two months to finally come out about my "problem".

"I need help."

TT


End file.
